


let it come down crashing

by missymeggins



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-19 14:11:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13125345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missymeggins/pseuds/missymeggins
Summary: She telegrams first: It continues to look very still, even from up here.He writes her back: I promise you all the same, it is moving.





	let it come down crashing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [anotherthief](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anotherthief/gifts).



As it happens, he doesn’t actually go after her. 

She’s flying to England in a plane and his only option is a boat. She is too far ahead of him and the thought of playing catch up to her is extremely discomfiting. He has no interest in being on unequal footing with her; that’s now how they’re supposed to be. They’re a waltz, slow and close, and always in step. So chasing her is neither practical nor the right kind of romantic to his mind and he’s fairly certain she knows this - fairly certain that ‘come after me’ wasn’t really meant literally. 

Rather it was an invitation, one he’s certain she meant in all sincerity, to something far less concrete than a place. Something he hopes might be infinitely more rewarding. Something he is more than willing to wait for. 

An invitation to _her_. 

 

 

 

She telegrams first. _It continues to look very still, even from up here._

He writes her back: _I promise you all the same, it is moving._

 

 

 

The days are slow while he waits to hear from her. He had never quite realised that she’d changed the speed of time. He’d never considered himself an impatient man but then, there are many things he had never considered himself before she entered his life.

And now time stretches out before him with only one moment in his vision: Phryne Fisher’s homecoming. 

_Come after me_ she had said and the words haven’t left his mind since. 

He spends almost every free second of her absence musing on exactly how to do that. 

 

 

 

Eventually he receives her reply, _I suppose I’ll have to trust you on that._

He answers in turn, _I suppose you will._

(And to her surprise, she does. It turns out to be far easier than expected.) 

 

 

 

It’s slow this conversation, which is unusual for them, but then it’s far more honest and to the point as well, which is also new.

_Melbourne misses you, it hasn’t stopped raining in days_ , he sends, surprised by his own willingness to indulge in such romanticism. 

_I shall do my best to bring the sun back with me_ , she replies and it fills him with the reality of just how much he misses her. 

“Come after me,” she had said. So finally he does, the only way he knows how, through a simple, completely heartfelt request. 

_Come home Phryne_ , he telegrams. 

So she does. 

_On my way Jack_ , is her reply. 

 

 

 

She returns to him and that is something she’s never done before. Never in her life has she returned to _anyone_ but herself. 

The truth is that’s what coming home to Melbourne two years ago had been; a return to herself. A return to a Phryne Fisher she hadn’t been in many years - free. Free from everything. Life in Paris after the war had certainly had it’s freedoms but even so it took time to escape certain shackles. 

And England, though it had been home for many years, was also never _home_ quite the way Melbourne had been. Her childhood, contrary to expectation, had been so very free and returning to Melbourne was the closest she knew she would ever come to feeling that again. 

She’d had money, the war was over and she’d had no patriotic duty to serve. Her life was hers to _live_ \- as frivolously and joyfully as she pleased so she’d come home. She never anticipated that it would change her in the ways that it has. 

It has made her more vulnerable and yet braver all at the same time. 

She had told him to come after her - but she had meant so many things, so much more than anything literal. She had meant, _let me come back home_. She had meant, _don’t let me run away from this._ She had meant, _you are all I never knew I could want._

So once more she returns to Melbourne but this time she’s coming home to more than herself; she’s coming home to _him_ and to _them_ and to _family_ and it is such a deliberate, conscious choice. 

It fills her with the most joy she’s ever known.

 

 

 

When she arrives home he’s waiting for her. 

Mr Butler brings her to the parlour and there he stands, whiskey in hand ready for her as he smiles and says, “Welcome home Miss Fisher.” 

“Jack,” she breathes out quietly, while her smile speaks as loudly as it can. 

She lets her fingers brush his as she takes the drink from his hand. He puts his hand to the small of her back as he guides her to her seat. The air is thick with all the distance between them. First months and continents, now inches and unknown expectations. 

He smiles at her. “So,” he begins, unsure how to finish.

“So,” she replies, lips quirking in that oh so familiar way of hers that he can’t help but laugh. 

“It’s good to see you home Miss Fisher.”

“It’s good be to _be_ home Jack.”

(He could happily drown in the way she says his name.)

They drink quietly for a few minutes. There’s so much to say but no familiar place to start. There’s no case to get them talking, to break the ice and ease them into their familiar patterns. There’s just them and the promise of something new. But how exactly to begin eludes them. 

She clears her throat a little, the only sign of anything less than her usual air of confidence and control. 

“Checkers?” she offers and he nods his reply. 

As they play the words come back to them and they talk easily. He tells of her his recent cases, she talks of London. It’s smalltalk mostly, meaningless in the face of the things they have yet to say, yet at the same time the complete opposite of meaningless because it’s the details of their lives after all, and sharing them with each other means a great deal.

When she tries (but fails) to gracefully stifle a yawn he says, “I think it’s time we get you to bed.” 

She raises an eyebrow. “We?” she articulates slowly, locking her eyes on his.

He clears his throat and wills his body to fight the blush he feels rising on his cheeks. “A figure of speech Miss Fisher,” he answers her trying to keep his composure. “You’ve had a long journey, you should get some sleep.” 

She smiles and leans forward. “And what awaits me tomorrow Inspector?” 

“A new day,” he replies seriously. 

“I can hardly wait,” she purrs. 

He holds her gaze. “Well then Miss Fisher, until tomorrow?” 

“Until tomorrow Jack,” she replies. 

She walks him to the door and as they pause there he leans in slowly, bringing a hand to her check, while his lips find the other. She holds her breath as the firmness of his touch does something to her stomach she hasn’t experienced in such a long time. She closes her eyes into that feeling, content to remain in it for as long as possible. 

But then he releases her and walks out the door. She watches him from the doorway and when he reaches the gate he turns back, tips his hat and disappears from view. 

She lingers in the doorway a moment, eyes searching the sky for stars. 

 

 

The next morning Mr Butler brings her breakfast tray to her room with a note from Jack. It simply says, 

_Phryne,_

_Meet me at the observatory, 7pm._

_Jack_

For the first time in years she remembers what it’s like to feel the butterflies of anticipation and everything else falls away. She has no desire to do anything at all but hurry the clock along to it’s final destination. She briefly considers simply lying in bed all day but within seconds of finishing breakfast she’s restless and impatient.

There’s nothing for it but to simply allow time to pass as it’s supposed to and so she spends her day getting reacquainted with her home; visiting Dot and Mac, until finally she can justify returning home in order to get ready. 

She takes her time picking an outfit, not because she thinks she has to dress for him - it would be a lie to say she never dressed for men; she did when she knew it was a means to getting what she wanted - but because she wants to _feel_ a certain way. 

She wants to feel as much like herself as she can, because this is a precipice she’s standing on and she intends, despite the tiny ball of fear curled up in her stomach, to take a flying leap into something completely new. 

 

 

 

He’s standing with his back to her as she arrives. Her eyes sweep over the blanket on the ground, the bucket of champagne and basket of food beside it and finally rest on him, tall and tense as he paces ever so slightly, just a step here and then back again, like he has no desire to go anywhere but can’t manage to stay still in this spot. 

She pauses, watching him for just a moment, and as she does the butterflies in her stomach stop and what she finally feels is calm certainty. So she steps forward, coming to a still by his side. 

“This is quite the picnic Jack,” she says by way of greeting. 

He turns to face her. “Well I do believe I agreed to improve upon the last romantic gesture,” he tells her lightly with a slight smile, the one she has come to love so dearly.

“Let me guess, this time you’re going to tell me I’m not a motorcar?” she teases him, her tone dry while the quirk of her lips gives her away.

“No Phryne,” he answers seriously and her heart nearly stops at the way he says her name, so rare from his lips but so perfect to her ears. 

“You are not a motorcar or a telescope. You,” he pauses, breathes in, continues. “You are the whole universe - every beautiful, mystifying, brilliant, shining piece of it. When it comes to you I feel I might be a telescope - all I can do is look on in awe.” 

She fixes her eyes on his and steps a little bit closer. “That’s not all you can do Jack,” she tells him, asking him with her eyes to finally accept her invitation.

He brings his hand to her cheek and she steps into his embrace as his other arm wraps around her waist. He kisses her and she kisses him and around them the universe expands. 

“You came after me,” she whispers against his mouth. 

“You came home,” he replies, holding her just a little bit tighter.

“There’s still a whole world out there Jack Robinson,” she tells him. 

“There is indeed Phryne Fisher. Perhaps we could explore it together?” 

Her fingers find his tie and she smiles that dazzling smile that’s been his undoing since the very start. 

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”


End file.
